


Holding On

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: As in Arya is conveniently not too young for Jaime, F/M, Hurt Arya, Hurt Jaime, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I don't know what will happen in S8 but it won't be this, I love both these characters so much, Older Arya, Post-Season/Series 08 AU, Post-apocalyptic Westeros, They're both basically hurt the whole time, Westeros is dangerous, Wights are everywhere, lone vigilante!Arya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: The wights have marched south and Westeros is overrun. A lone vigilante is roaming the north, trying to remember how to be Arya Stark again. Then one day, she comes across a one-handed man previously thought dead...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually ship Braime, but I find Brienne really hard to write. Arya is my other favourite character who I find a bit easier to work with, so that's where this came from. I've conveniently aged Arya up a little to make their age gap less extreme - assume Arya is about 20 and Jaime is about 40.

Once Arya decided a town needed to go, it was only a matter of hours.

Usually. 

This particular town - somewhere in the remote north of Westeros - was a blight on mankind. From her few days observing, it was filled with almost entirely evil people. Rapists, murderers, and corruption. She decided the best thing to do was purge it. She did that sometimes.

She always gave places a full once-over before taking such a measure, in case there were any innocents she ought to protect. There were usually a few women and children who she could ferry safely to a better place. This time, there was only one person - a man.

He had tried to break up a fight the night before, intervening on behalf of the smaller man. The group of large drunks had beaten him to a pulp. He had drawn her attention because he willingly took the beating once he saw that he had diverted their attention from their original victim. He didn’t seem to mind.

He was still there lying in the mud outside the tavern the next morning when Arya set about her task. She slaughtered everyone in the village in the early hours of the morning. No one made a sound. She set the village on fire and prepared to leave. She expected the man to get up and flee. She led her horse down the main street, through the burning buildings, unhurried, and passed him lying there in the mud. He was unconscious.

Sighing, she hauled him up and over the back of her horse, and took him with her.

 

A few miles away was an abandoned farm house. They were very common now, with the wights all over the place, no one dared stay outside a walled village or keep. But Arya knew there were none around the area at the moment - she had killed off at least five score in the previous few days.

With some difficulty, she brought the man inside. He was tall and heavy, and his clothes were soaked through. He had been mostly unconscious the entire time here, and was unresponsive as she lay him in front of the hearth and got a fire going. She brought the horse inside the farmhouse with them - he was used to it. It wasn’t safe to leave him outside - wights or not. Sometimes men were worse, and they could be harder to track. 

She stripped the man’s clothes off and boiled them in a bucket of snowmelt over the fire while she cleaned him and treated a multitude of wounds all over his body. She had no care for his nudity; the house of black and white had certainly stripped her of that sensibility. However, as she cleaned the dirt and mud off his face and beard, she felt something growing in the back of her mind. A memory. 

She had noted with little interest when she first saw him that he was missing his right hand. This brought the vague thought out of the mist of her memories, and she remembered.

She knew this man. It was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, who has been thought dead a long time, certainly since the wights marched south.

He remained unconscious until long after his clothes had dried in front of the fire and she re-dressed him and hauled him onto the straw bed in the corner of the room. She pulled supplies from her saddlebags and started preparing some food and tea, and this, finally, stirred him awake. 

She looked across at him as he groaned and his eyes blinked open in the firelight. Arya felt an odd swooping feeling in her stomach as his eyes to in the room and then meet hers. His eyes were...

“Move carefully,” Arya said quickly as he lurched up into a sitting position. “Don’t reopen your wounds.” She did not want to re sew them.

He did as she said, carefully putting his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself up, leaning forward on his elbows, rubbing his face.

Wordlessly, Arya passed him a waterskin and he drank, gingerly, then lowered it and met her gaze. She hadn't remembered his eyes being so… so... She realised she was staring.

“Er - can you eat?” she asked, and he nodded, so she passed him a bowl of the stew. He took it with a shaking left hand, and Arya hesitated where she stood as he held it for a few seconds, and then dived forward to grab it back before he dropped it. He made a noise in his throat, something between pain and disappointment, and lay stiffly, carefully back.

After a moment’s hesitation, Arya sat on the edge of the bed with the bowl. His eyes locked on hers and watched her as she brought the spoon to his lips. He opened them and she tilted the spoon. He swallowed. She repeated the process. Neither spoke. Arya had no idea what to say to him, but his gaze locked on her was starting to make her sweat.

When he had taken enough, she took up the bowl and stood to return to her chair, and he reached out and grasped her hand. She turned back to him.

“Thank you,” he said, voice like sandpaper, “for saving my life.”

Arya didn’t reply. After a moment, he released her, and she moved back across the room.

 

Arya watched over him as he slept the whole next day - the daylight only lasted a few hours now anyway - and into the next night. By that point, she had reached her own limit, and loaded some large logs on the fire and ensured the horse was settled before she lay herself down on the other side of the bed. She didn’t think anything of it at the time. She was tired, and wasn’t about to sleep on a hard floor when there was room on a bed.

However, the next morning, when she woke in the faint light to find him lying opposite her, quite close, watching her, a concept arose from the mist of her memories of her past life that her sleeping there might seem a little strange. She met his gaze and they lay watching each other for several moments, their noses only inches apart. Then Arya broke his gaze and threw the blanket back, getting smoothly to her feet and going straight outside. 

 

Arya had a problem. She wasn’t a faceless man any longer. She didn’t want to be. But she wasn’t entirely Arya Stark either. For one thing, she was having a very hard time trying to remember how to act like a regular person. She should have known that sleeping next to him might seem strange.

She spent some time in the watery light. She always tried to get as much light on her face as she could, whenever she got the chance, because there was so little of it these days. She made a wide patrol of the surrounding area and shot and skinned a rabbit before returning. 

When she came back, the light was fading, and Jaime was kneeling by the fire, making tea with a shaking left hand.

Arya stepped forward and took the pot from him gently, wordlessly. She took over and he watched her movements. She passed him a cup and he whispered a hoarse thank you as he took it.

“You should rest more,” she finally said, bluntly, as he sipped weakly at the tea. He nodded, and watched as she prepared the rabbit. After several minutes, he spoke.

“You burned the village.”

Arya nodded, concentrating on her task.

“You killed everyone.”

“They were evil people.”

“How do you decide who is good and who is bad?” he asked, speaking slowly, as though using his voice was painful.

“It's not about good and bad. People are people. But I know evil when I see it. And when I see it, I destroy it.”

“So why didn’t you kill me?”

Arya glanced up at him, and was surprised to find his eyes wide and vulnerable. “You’re not evil,” she replied flatly.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“You don’t even know who I am.”

“I know who you are, Jaime,” she said with a sigh, noting the slight jerk of his head at his name. “I know what you’ve done. And I don’t think you deserve death. Not yet.”

“Who are you?” he breathed, and Arya ignored him, standing to place the spit over the fire.

“You should rest more,” she repeated over her shoulder. “I’ll bring the food to you.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he gathered himself and laboriously got to his feet and moved over to the bed.

When the meat was cooked, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled pieces off the spit, passing one to him and putting the next in her mouth, alternating. He gingerly rolled on his side, curling around her, his hip resting against her lower back to hold him up. He ate slowly. Arya was patient.

“You do this often?” he asked her.

“What?”

“Snatching old cripples from the side of the road and nursing them back from the brink of death.” She noted the slight sarcasm and small cock of his eyebrow.

Arya paused. “Sometimes. Usually only women. And usually in groups.”

“Why not leave me to fend for myself?”

Arya considered. It was a good question. Usually she would. Why was she expending extra effort on him? As usual, her own feelings were like a thick fog, incomprehensible to her.

“Complaining?” she asked finally, holding back the neck strip of meat.

“No, grateful,” he replied earnestly and she let him have the meat. “I'm just trying to figure out why.”

“Why does it matter?” she muttered

“If you are hoping for some reward, I have to say I-”

“I'm not.”

He paused. “Alright, then.”

They finished the rabbit. Arya stood and set to work cleaning up.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” 

She looked sharply over at him. The warmth and depth was returning to his voice, and something about the way he's said that had made her feel… something.

“Why?” she asked, bluntly.

He watched her for a moment before replying. “It's warmer.”

“Soon,” she replied. 

She finished her chores and climbed in beside him. He turned to face her.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked softly.

“I have no name,” she lied automatically and Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone has a name.”

“Not me.”

Arya woke sometime later in pitch darkness, becoming immediately alert with the sense that something was wrong. She sat up slowly and squinted through the darkness. Across the room, Jaime was crouched by her horse, keeping him calm. Outside was the sound of slowly shuffling footprints in the snow. 

Jaime had already doused the fire. Arya knew she had left no sign outside. She remained frozen where she sat in the bed, Jaime's eyes meeting hers across the dark room as he ran his left hand soothingly over the horse’s forehead. Arya prayed he wouldn't snort. The footsteps circled the hut twice and then started to fade into the distance. 

After a minute of silence, Arya got to her feet and picked up her sword.

“What are you doing?” Jaime said in a low voice.

“I'm going for a look around. Bar the door.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but he didn't. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Arya slipped through the door and listened for the beam coming down behind her before she moved off, quickly finding the tracks and starting out after it. Her dagger would be claiming many wights tonight.

 

She returned some hours later, though it was still dark.

“Jaime,” she said through the door. “Let me in.”

Her horse snorted in response and she heard movement inside before the beam shifted and Jaime pulled the door open. Arya slipped inside and he barred it behind them.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“I found two groups. I don't believe there are any more nearby.”

Jaime nodded solemnly.

Arya crossed the room and crouched before the fireplace, taking the flint and trying to get it started. Her breath was misting thickly in front of her. She was having trouble striking the flint, and noticed for the first time her hands were shaking from the cold.

She looked up when a hand closed over hers. Jaime was crouched next to her. He took the flint and lit the fire for her, expertly maneuvering the stone with only one hand, leaning forward to blow and stoking up the logs. Arya stepped back and sat on the bed, watching him. She tugged the blanket over herself and laid down while he worked, curling in a ball. 

Jaime crossed the room to collect more logs and paused on his way back, looking down at her. He set the logs in the fire then turned back, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting the backs of his fingers to her cheek. 

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“Cold,” Arya gasped. She wasn’t very good at paying attention to her own physical needs, but once she had noticed how cold she was, it had claimed her. She shouldn’t have spent so long outside. She felt like a leaf in a heavy wind. She could barely draw breath.

Carefully, Jaime lay down next to her. He picked up the edge of the blanket and Arya grasped it to her, reluctant to rescind it, but he tugged it from her hand and slid his body underneath, up against her, putting both arms around her and holding her close against him. 

It felt alien to be held by someone. Arya lay frozen stiff until he nudged her knees with his and she straightened her legs, allowing him to move closer. Her arms were curled up and trapped between her chest and his.

It was cold at first, but after a few moments she began to feel his body heat radiating into her, and she pressed closer to him. His chin rested on her head and Arya wondered when she had last been held by someone, and couldn’t recall. He was warm and firm, and his arm around her waist was heavy in a way that felt nice, and she very carefully tilted her head forward until it pressed to his chest and she could hear his heartbeat, and that sound had an effect on her she'd never expected. Suddenly, all other thoughts disappeared from her head, and all she could focus on was the steady sound of his heart, and almost instantly she felt her eyelids growing heavy and her muscles relaxing and she was halfway to sleep within seconds.

 

Jaime was improved enough the next day that Arya couldn’t justify staying there any longer. She woke still wrapped up in his arms and it made her feel so many strange things - things that were like colours to a blind person. She didn’t know what any of them meant and she just wanted to leave. 

She split her supplies with him and left him in the cabin without saying goodbye. She didn’t like goodbyes.

She made use of the daylight hours and headed out on the road in the direction of the next town. She felt uneasy, but couldn’t put her finger on why. She pushed the feelings out of her head and reached for her waterskin. 

It was as she was looking away from the road for a moment that a well-aimed stone flew from the cover of the trees and hit her right in the temple. She tumbled from the horse, immediately almost completely unconscious, and the horse galloped off in fright, and a gang of men were on her within seconds with fists and feet and blades.

There were simply too many of them. She hadn’t thought to die like this, defeated by so few enemies. It had been unlucky. She watched from the ground as a big man with a sword approached. She could feel her own blood soaking her clothes, and her vision was blurring. Almost over, she told herself, and felt surprisingly calm. They were already rifling through her pockets. She closed her eyes.

There was a shout and she opened her eyes again. Someone else was here, someone who had leaped in front of her and was fighting off the gang of men. A left-handed fighter. Arya wrestled back some more consciousness, wanting to see what was happening. 

It was Jaime.

Within only a few minutes he had killed one of the men and seen off the rest. They fled into the woods. He was turning back to her, crouching beside her.

“Stay with me, Arya,” he said, and the sound of her name boosted her back into consciousness again. When had he figured that out?

“What are you doing here?” she said through her teeth as he pressed down on a bleeding wound on her side.

“I followed you,” he admitted.

Arya just grunted in reply as Jaime tore away the strips of her shredded tunic and bundled them up to press into the wound.

“You’ll need a maester for this,” he said grimly. “Where is your horse?”

“He’ll come back,” she said hoarsely. “Jaime… you don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I do,” he frowned. “You saved my life. Why can’t I do the same for you?”


	2. Chapter 2

When Arya woke, she was in a soft bed, in a warm room, and the pain in her side was only a dull ache. She recognised the lingering effects of milk of the poppy, and was vaguely annoyed for being given it without her consent. When she opened her eyes, she knew where she was immediately. 

Jaime had taken her to Winterfell.

“Jaime,” she said aloud, hoping that would be enough to summon him to her side, but there was no sound or movement in response. Achingly slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, looking around the empty room.

“Hello!” she called out as loud as she could - which wasn’t very loud. However, after a few moments, a maid appeared in the doorway.

“You’re awake, my lady! How are you?”

“Where is he?” she ground out.

“...the Lannister?”

“Yes.”

“Erm - I’ll fetch someone.”

She disappeared and Arya waited, trying to breathe steadily, until an old man arrived - the current steward.

“The Lannister is being kept quite secure, my Lady, you needn’t worry-”

“I want him here.”

“My lady, Lady Sansa is away, as you know, so I will of course follow your orders in her stead, but… are you sure that will be safe?”

“He saved my life. I want him here.”

“...at once, my lady.”

 

Several minutes later Arya heard them approaching down the hall and felt a red hot anger settle in her stomach when she heard the rattling of chains. He was brought into the room, brought before her. His ankles were bound and his arms were tied at the elbows behind his back. He was dirty and dehydrated. He met her gaze through his hair and she saw in his eyes that he wasn’t sure if she had ordered this or not. Her heart sunk.

“The keys,” Arya demanded, thrusting her hand out. The steward hastily handed them to her and she pulled herself to her feet, with difficulty.

“Bring food and wine, and draw him a bath. Have someone come to clean him up. Do it now.”

The man left without a word. 

Arya hauled herself across to Jaime and grasped his arm, turning him so she could undo the shackles on his elbows. She let them fall to the floor with a heavy thud and then knelt down to undo his ankles.

As she stood again, dizziness overcame her, and darkness suddenly closed in from the corners of her vision. It cleared a moment later, and she found Jaime’s arms wrapped around her as he maneuvered her back to the bed. He didn’t say anything. 

A moment later a maid arrived with the food and wine. She lay on the bed and watched through the mist of semi-consciousness as he ate, and then he disappeared for an hour or so and came back looking like a different person - his hair short, his beard trimmed, his skin red raw from scrubbing.

“You look handsome,” she said, her first words to him since she woke up, and he gave a half-smile in response.

“And you look like a half-strangled cat.”

Arya smiled and fell asleep soon after.

At some point, after it was dark, Arya woke with a jerk and sat up, looking around, wondering what had woken her. The fire in the heart had burned down to cinders. Across the dark room, Jaime was slumped in a chair, asleep. Then, he let out a noise, something between a groan and a yell, as though he was in pain.

Arya scrambled to her feet and crossed the room to him. Her head swimming, she put a hand on his shoulder and shook him.

“Jaime, wake up,” she said, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair. His eyes opened. She stepped back. 

“I… was I…” 

“You were yelling,” she said.

He sat up straighter, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Sorry for waking you.”

Arya shook her head, and watched him curiously as he ran a hand through his hair and took deep breaths. 

“Why are you sleeping here?” she asked.

“Oh… Your household staff don’t know what to do with me, I think.”

“They didn’t give you a room?”

“No.”

With a huff, Arya turned for the door, but Jaime grabbed her hand, stopping her.

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s late. Don’t bother them. I’ll be fine here.” 

He made to let go of her hand, but Arya grasped it firmly, and tugged him up. He got to his feet. She crossed back to the bed, tugging him behind her, then turned and sat, sliding across to the other side to give him room. She only let his hand go when she was sure he was following. He sat and toed his boots off before lying down next to her. There was plenty of room for both of them. Arya lay on her side and studied his profile.

“What were you dreaming about?” she asked.

He shifted a little as though getting comfortable, although his expression was the opposite. “...King’s Landing,” he said at length.

Arya waited to see if he would say more, but he didn’t.

“How did you know who I am?”

At this, he turned on his side and met her gaze. “Your saddle,” he said softly. “It has a wolf emblazoned on the flap.”

“You guessed from that?”

“It helped me remember. I saw you, last time I was here,” he reminded her.

“When you warned Jon about Cersei?”

He nodded and his gaze fell away again.

“That was over a year ago,” Arya said, watching his face. “Where have you been all this time? They thought you were dead.”

He seemed to struggle for a moment, and then his face smoothed out, and he said, “Did they? I’m honoured they thought of me at all, useless cripple that I am,” he said with a forced smirk and slight acidity, lifting his right arm before letting it drop back to the mattress.

Arya frowned, not fooled by his joke, but didn’t press him. Instead, she reached for his arm - his right arm - and he stiffened slightly as she grasped the forearm. She lifted it, and he let her, but watched guardedly as she ran a finger down the forearm and then closed her hand around the stump. His eyes squeezed shut, which made her smile slightly, though she wasn’t sure why.

She wriggled closer, turning onto her back, and rested his arm across her stomach, the end still enclosed in her hand. She settled in for sleep, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing. She wasn’t sure why she did it. It was just instinct. But after a moment, she felt Jaime relax next to her, a slight puff of air against her cheek, and she soon heard his breaths growing slower as well.

 

She woke with the faint morning light, with Jaime’s arm still around her. She had rolled onto her left side, and his body was pressed up against her back. She shifted slightly in a small stretch, and then froze when she felt the hardness pressed up against her arse.

Her stomach jerked slightly and she was surprised to find that she didn’t mind. This was a genuine shock to her; she had thought she would never feel this again. Not since… She stopped herself from going down that train of thought. Anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time she was completely clueless about her own feelings.

To her regret, Jaime soon stirred awake and rolled away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing his hands through his hair, repressing a sigh. She knew he was trying to hide his erection. She rolled to face him and he turned slightly sideways towards her.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“As good as new,” she replied.

He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that. Your wounds were very serious.”

Arya gave a shrug. “I’ve had worse.”

He regarded her in silence for a few moments before saying carefully. “How does someone go from being a daughter of a great house to… you?” 

He said it gently; he wasn’t trying to offend her. Still, it somehow made her sad.

She focussed on the window across the room and replied.

“After my father was killed, I went to Braavos and trained to become a faceless man.”

“A faceless man?”

“Do you know what they are?”

“Yes.” He was suitably shocked.

“And then I returned to Westeros.”

“And now you’re a… wandering vigilante, purging evil from the world? The faceless man of Westeros?” he questioned lightly.

“Something like that.” She looked away again. “But I'm not a faceless man. Not really, not anymore.”

“Didn’t you complete the training?”

“I became Arya Stark again. I cannot be someone and no one at the same time.”

Jaime nodded slowly, clearly confused. “I’ll fetch the maid. Your dressings will need changing.”

 

Maester Wolkan came and went, leaving instructions that she remain abed for a few more days at least, and Arya glared at his back as he left. Jaime closed the door behind him and turned back to Arya with a smirk.

“You don't like him?”

“I don't like people touching me.”

“I touch you,” Jaime pointed out dryly.

“That's different.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

Jaime didn’t press her. He took a seat at the table across the room and started on the meal the maids had brought in.

“He says you are healing well,” he said as he poured more tea. “That's good.”

Arya got stiffly to her feet, wrapping a robe around herself and shuffling over to join him at the table.

“Has he looked at you yet?” she asked.

“Me?”

“You were injured not long ago,” she said as she took a seat. “You should get him to check you.”

Jaime frowned. “In truth, I don't like people touching me either.”

“You let me touch you,” Arya mimicked petulantly. Jaime’s eyebrow shot up.

“Beautiful young women are in a different category,” he said smoothly.

Arya snorted. “Yeah, one I'm not in.”

He paused. “Why?”

Arya looked up at him as she stuffed bread into her mouth. “I'm not beautiful,” she said around the food.

“Your opinion is irrelevant,” Jaime shrugged.

Arya wasn't sure what to say to that. She smeared butter on her bread and turned her mind back to the maester’s diagnosis.

“So, I have to stay in bed a while longer…” she said with a scowl. “Will you stay and entertain me?”

“Of course. I have nothing better to do, after all.”

 

Arya woke halfway through the daylight hours to soft noises. Jaime was at the door, speaking quietly with someone. He took something from them, then closed the door softly and turned to return to his chair. He glanced over at her and paused when he saw her eyes open.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

Arya shook her head. “What is it?”

“A raven scroll for you,” he said, stepping over to hand it to her.

“What does it say?”

He gave a small smirk. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to read your mail.”

“Jaime, I don’t care. Please read it for me.”

Reluctantly, he sat on the edge of the bed and broke the seal. He unravelled the scroll slowly and looked for a moment.

“It’s from your sister.”

“What does it say?”

“Arya…”

“Just read it.”

He sighed and held the parchment up again. “Erm… Well, it says… Dear Arya…”

“Yes?” a grin was growing on her face.

“I heard you, erm, you have... returned to… Winterfell.” He cleared his throat, frowned at the scroll for a long moment, then continued slowly. “Erm… and that you have been injured. I hope…” he squinted. “I hope you are… recovering.”

Arya quickly wiped the smile off her face as Jaime continued. She had thought he was joking around. She sat still and listened without comment as he struggled through the rest of the scroll, guilt burning in her stomach for making him do this. She tried not to look, but couldn’t help but notice the patch of pink growing brighter on his cheekbone.

Sansa wrote that she was travelling in a large convoy from Castle Black and would be home within a fortnight, and hoped Arya would assist with preparing Winterfell for the return of its army.

When he finished the note, Jaime placed it on Arya’s bedside table and got to his feet without looking at her. He crossed slowly to the door and went out, closing it softly behind him, and Arya flopped her head back on the pillow, jarring her muscles painfully, wishing she could kick herself. She wanted to follow him, but she could barely move, let alone walk, and before long she could feel herself falling towards sleep. She went reluctantly.

 

She didn’t see Jaime again until the next morning. She had given instructions for him to be given his own room and every courtesy as a guest, though she regretted it a little when she woke in the middle of the night, cold, and he wasn’t there.

He opened the door a little way and put his head through, and his eyes went wide when he saw her sitting up, almost fully dressed.

“I thought you’d be still asleep,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

Arya shook her head, a faint sheen of sweat already forming on her forehead.

“I’m going down for breakfast,” she said. “I’m giving the maids enough extra work already without having to bring my meals all the way up here.” 

Taking a breath, she reached once again for her boot, and gasped halfway through the movement, her hand going to her ribs.

“Let me do it,” Jaime said, stepping quickly over to her and kneeling down. He picked up her foot and slid the boot carefully on, then rested her heel on his thigh while he did up the laces. “You should rest more,” he said, looking up at her for a moment. “You didn’t allow me to move around so much so quickly while I was recovering.”

“We were two people in an abandoned hut. There was no need for you to move.”

He frowned. “There is no need now. I can bring your meals if you just want to spare the maids.”

Arya was already shaking her head. “No. Just… help me up.”

He grasped her upper arm and helped her to her feet. Arya’s head swam for a moment and she leaned heavily against him, but then she recovered. 

She crossed the room, slowly, and made her way towards the hall, Jaime following close behind her.

“You don’t have to act like I might collapse at any second,” Arya said through her teeth as they started down the stairs.

“You  _ are _ going to collapse any second,” Jaime said with restrained annoyance.

“I’m not.”

“You -  _ see _ ?”

Arya stumbled on the next step and Jaime grabbed her before she fell. With a huff of impatience, he slung her arm around his shoulders and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her. However, she hissed with pain when his hand pressed against her side, and moved it lower, to her hip. He didn’t comment.

They made it down the stairs with Jaime almost carrying her. He started to suggest he just carry her and be done with it but Arya cut him off before he could finish. At the doors to the hall, he carefully released her without her asking, so she was able to stride - or at least limp - by herself through the doors and up to the table. He followed a few seconds behind her.

“My lady, are you well enough to be up?” the steward said, shocked as Arya took her seat with relief. “The maids would have brought you your meals, there is no need-”

“It’s fine,” Arya said sharply. “I was hoping to speak with the master-at-arms, is he here?”

“I’ll go fetch him, my lady.”

Jaime took a seat further down the table, and Arya could feel his eyes on her the whole time. When she figured no one was looking - no one else, anyway - she discreetly wiped her brow with her sleeve.

 

She didn’t manage to eat much. She felt like she might throw up at any second. But she maintained her composure long enough to discuss preparations with the master-at-arms and the steward. Jaime ate quickly and disappeared from the hall during this, but when she pulled herself to her feet and made it, barely, across the hall and through the doors again, and paused once she was through to put a hand on the pillar and lean over, the other hand grasping her middle, unable to stop a faint groan - that she looked up, and Jaime was leaning casually against the wall opposite, watching her with a faint smirk.

“Has your opinion on carrying changed at all?” he asked cockily, and Arya just stared at him through vision which was blackening slightly at the edges until he stepped forward and lifted her smoothly into his arms, and her head flopped against his chest as he started up the stairs.

She lost track of things for a while - definitely  _ not _ unconscious, she told herself - and the next thing she knew Jaime was tugging her second boot off and pulling a blanket up to her chin.

“Thanks, Jaime,” she mumbled, unable to tell exactly where he was through her blurred vision, but she felt a hand brush her hair back in what seemed like a caress, just before the darkness took her fully.

 

There was a knock. Arya called for them to enter, and Maester Wolkan opened the door.

“Good afternoon my lady, my lord,” he said, shuffling in. He was carrying a stack of dusty books which he dropped on the table with a bang and then fell into a coughing fit as the dust blew up. Jaime’s eyes were moving from him to the books and Arya remembered they had never discussed the incident with the raven scroll. She almost wished for a throwing star when the Maester started talking.

“Ser Jaime, I wonder if I might get your opinion on these texts. We have several concerning the Lannisters, and perhaps you might be able to assist with my catalogue…”

“Maester Wolkan, I’m so sorry, but I really can’t spare Ser Jaime at the moment,” Arya immediately said, wildly searching in her head for an explanation. “We were - erm - we were just about to begin drawing up plans for improving the defences on the eastern wall. I’m afraid it’s a project that will take up all of his time for now. Perhaps I can help with the catalogue in a few days? I do find those histories very… erm, interesting.”

The Maester’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “Oh, do you, my lady?” he said with approval. “I must confess, I have not been able to interest Lady Sansa in the task, but if you would be willing to assist, I would certainly appreciate it… Erm, if you don’t mind, Ser Jaime?”

“Not at all,” Jaime said diminutively, his gaze fixed on his boots. 

Wolkan gathered the books in his arms again and made his way out. When the door clicked shut behind him, Arya made a show of sitting up and reaching for the pitcher.

“Can you pass me the wine?” she asked, trying hard to change the subject. Jaime got to his feet and poured her a goblet. Before he passed it to her, he paused, and struggled for a moment to put something into words.

“You don’t have to protect me,” he said finally, in a quiet voice.

“No,” Arya agreed. “But you’re my friend, and I want to.”

Jaime passed her the goblet and returned to his seat without commenting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it's actually canon that Jaime is a little dyslexic, but I've always had that feeling. I think it fits in really well with Tywin's attitude towards him and all the comments about being 'stupid', as well as with Jaime's well-disguised lack of self confidence. I also think it adds another reason to the list for why he would choose to join the Kingsguard and spend his life with a sword in hand rather than a pen, which is what he'd be doing if he took on the role of being Tywin's heir and Lord of Casterley Rock... Anyway, just my thoughts!
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this so far; it's my first GoT fic so hopefully I'm not making too many mistakes!


	3. Chapter 3

As Arya’s health improved, she was expected to be more present around Winterfell. The thing she was dreading came far too quickly - a dinner where she was expected to entertain the wives of many of the bannermen. Arya agreed grudgingly, only because Sansa was away.

The whole thing started out on a bad note when Lady Knighton leaned across during the first course and asked if Arya was really allowing ‘the Lannister’ to roam Winterfell freely.

“He’s my friend,” Arya replied flatly, drawing an amused smirk from the women around her.

“But the things he’s done… he was the one who crippled your brother, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Arya replied through her teeth. “Bran forgave him for that, remember?” It had been a pretty big thing at the time.

“And the people he’s killed…”

“I’ve killed a lot of people too,” she replied flatly. This shut the woman up on the topic, but Arya still had to sit through hours of boring conversation that went on, and on, and on. She tried to keep up, but it was nothing but knitting, and husbands, and children, and house keeping.

Before the final course, she was already starting to feel like there was a band around her chest, squeezing her. She sat still in her seat and tried to get her breathing under control. She drank more wine. It didn’t help. 

Then, when Lady Burcell started on another story about her daughter’s sewing, Arya got to her feet.

“Excuse me,” she managed, before turning and leaving. She barely made it out the door before she could no longer stop herself from breaking into a run. She pounded down the hallway, around a corner, up some stairs and pushed through a door that led outside onto the top of the castle wall and the freezing cold, gasping for air.

She put both hands on an icy stone battlement and squeezed her eyes shut, breathing the cold air deeply, willing her heart to slow down and the panic to leave her lungs. 

“That bad?” 

She turned. Jaime was stepping slowly through the doorway, clearly unsure if he was welcome to join her. She was surprised at the feeling of relief that passed through her.

She simply stared at him for moment before stammering, “C-close the door, don’t let the cold air inside.”

He nodded and closed it behind him, then stepped over to stand beside her as she looked out over Winterfell.

“Clothing, and… babies… and knitting… that’s all that exists for them,” she muttered.

Jaime leaned a hip against the stone and tilted his head at her. “They’re silly women, what do you expect?”

Arya shook her head and couldn’t bring herself to reply. She still felt like she couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t know why. 

Jaime frowned. “Why do they bother you so much?”

“Because I was meant to be one of them. And it was so unlikely that I’d escape that.”

“But you did.”

“But… it was so close and… I feel like it’s always coming after me.”

To her surprise, Jaime just laughed. 

“You’re so far from that path, Arya, you couldn’t get back there if you tried. Neither could I.”

Arya took a breath. His words were like water dousing the fire in her chest. She breathed out slowly and felt her muscles finally relax.

He was smiling at her. Arya looked up at him. She couldn’t remember anyone else ever being able to affect her like that, and certainly never thought to look for it in a one-handed enemy of her house. But he returned her gaze steadily, and his eyes made her stomach feel like it had taken a dive over the parapets, and without thinking, she took a step forward and grasped his shirt to hold him in place, and pressed up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

For the first few seconds he was stunned, then he made a muffled noise. Arya wasn’t sure what it meant. His lips were soft and dry at first, and she drew back a millimeter to lick her lips and then pressed forward again, and she felt warmth spread through her whole body in defiance of the freezing air -

Jaime made the noise again and pulled back, his head smacking the column behind him, and only then did Arya realised it wasn’t exactly a noise of pleasure. She let him go and took half a step back, looking up at him, and was shocked to find something like panic in his eyes.

“Arya…” he breathed, conflict clear on his face. “I…”

“You don’t want to,” she said flatly, anger and embarrassment flaring in her chest. She could at least clearly recognise those feelings.

“It’s not that,” he replied levelly.

“Then what?”

“I…” he swallowed, trailed off. He looked anxious, and Arya instinctively took another step back, giving him space.

“Your household guard would throw me back in my cell if they even suspected we were… carrying on together.”

“You’ve spent the night in my room, they didn’t have a problem with that,” she pointed out.

“I made an effort to make it not look that way,” he replied in a low voice.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Why bother? I’m the Stark in Winterfell - if they lay a finger on you, I’ll-”

“Yes, I know, but your reputation… am I worth all that? I don’t think so.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

She pushed past him and threw the door open.

“Arya, wait-”

She stormed off.

She stopped once at her room to collect her bag and leave a note for the steward. Then she went to the stables. She was out of Winterfell within fifteen minutes.

She made for the woods, hoping for some protection from the snowfall. She didn’t want to push the horse too hard in this weather; she just needed to get far enough away that she could think. 

No more than an hour had passed when she realised she was being followed. She didn’t need any help to figure out who it was.

Once she found a suitable spot for a camp, sheltered under dense foliage from the snow, she made a fire and let Jaime find her.

He emerged from the trees into the firelight, leading a horse behind him. He didn’t say anything, but turned and hobbled the horse and then came slowly over to where she crouched. He knelt next to her.

“Why did you run away?”

Arya glanced at him. “I didn’t run away. I left. That’s what I do.”

Jaime hesitated. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

Arya grimaced, but didn’t reply. Jaime sighed.

“Arya, I’m sorry.”

Arya turned to him. “ _ You’re _ sorry? Don’t be ridiculous. I was the one who - assaulted you.  _ I’m  _ sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Jaime was shaking his head. “No, don’t say that. It’s not that I didn’t want to.”

“Jaime, you don’t have to-”

“Please,” he interrupted. “Let me explain.” Arya quietened and let him speak.

“I like you, Arya - of course I do. Do you think I would want to sleep next to you so much if I didn’t? The problem is me.” He took a deep breath, and Arya waited, curious. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but when I was eight, Cersei came into my room one night and said she had caught the maid and the stable boy - you know - together - and she thought it was a good idea for us to try it.”

Arya’s eyes widened a little. “ _ Eight _ ?” she exclaimed, unable to stop herself.

Jaime nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. “It was years until we really - well, got the hang of it. But it was entirely her. It never mattered if I wanted to or not, and it never mattered at all to her if I - you know - finished, or even enjoyed it. In fact, as we got older, she would get very angry at me if I did finish at all. And as you know, it didn’t help, anyway.” He sighed. “And that’s almost the sum of my experience. When you kissed me, I couldn’t help being reminded of her.”

Arya swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry, Jaime, I shouldn’t have - it was so stupid of me - I’m sor-”

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her mid-sentence. It was a chaste, closed-mouth, soft kiss, but it was enough to relieve a little of her embarrassment. 

He drew back. “What I’m saying is,” he continued, “I do like you, but please go slowly with me. It will take me some time…” he trailed off, and Arya nodded. 

“That’s fine,” she said. “I can do that.” 

She’d never gone slowly with anyone or anything before, but she was sure she could do it this time. Right?

 

At first light, they set out together towards the next town. It was snowing all day and by the time they arrived it was dark and deathly cold. They stabled the horses and went to the inn for a meager meal. Arya was surprised at Jaime’s ability to blend in, and not stick out obviously as a high born lord. She’d been a little worried about that, but he proved her wrong. This was certainly something he must have learned in recent years, because she doubted the man she’d met as a child would have been capable of it.

They hadn’t talked much all day, but now as they sat thawing out by the fire Arya was starting to look forward to sharing a bed with him, but before she could strike up a conversation around that topic, there was a scream from across the room. 

They both looked over as the serving girl ran crying from a group of laughing men. The largest of them started bragging loudly about all the women he’d raped and how she would be the next. All thoughts of a nice evening disappeared from Arya’s mind as she watched the man rave on. Then he left the inn to go after the girl. Arya got to her feet.

Jaime grasped her hand. She looked down at him angrily, expecting him to try to stop her, but he just met her gaze levelly and said, “Be careful.”

She nodded and strode across to the door after the man. She was vaguely aware of Jaime following behind her at a distance, giving her space, as she followed the big man down the road.

She heard another muffled scream and she increased her pace. Down an alley, the man had the girl cornered. Arya didn’t pause. She darted forward and killed him without a second’s hesitation. The girl didn’t even wait to see what had happened, she was already fleeing. The whole thing had taken only seconds. 

Arya bent to wipe her dagger clean on the man’s sleeve and turned back to the end of the alley, where she knew Jaime was waiting. 

“A slow death would have been more suitable,” she said with a slight pang of regret, and walked back over to him. When she came close enough to see him in the dim light, she saw something she definitely didn’t expect - tears were running down his face.

“What?” she asked dumbly, completely blindsided.

He shook his head, turned away, his hand coming up to his face.

“ _ What _ ?” Arya repeated, stepping closer to him.

His face buried in his hand, he replied in a somewhat high-pitched voice, “I just - you just reminded me of someone.”

Arya was confused. She didn’t know what she ought to do. She reminded him of someone who’d died, she assumed. She didn’t see why that would make him like this.

“Stop crying,” she said through her teeth.

“I'm not doing it on purpose,” Jaime said thickly.

They both turned as voices sounded down the dark road.

“That's the town guard,” Jaime said, scrubbing his face on his sleeve.

“Yes.”

“They're going to say you murdered this man.”

“I  _ did _ murder him,” Arya pointed out.

Jaime gesticulated with exasperation. “Do you want to get thrown in a cell?”

“Come on.”

 

They quietly liberated their horses from the stables and fled the town. They rode through the night for several miles before Arya spotted a building across the fields. It was a barn, abandoned, as all buildings were outside towns. It didn’t look quite ready to fall down yet, and it was marginally less windy inside than outside, so they pulled out their bedrolls and settled in on a pile of almost-dry straw in the corner. 

It was freezing, and Arya was hoping Jaime would hold her again tonight. They hadn’t touched once since she had stupidly kissed him (well, aside from the chaste kiss he had given her afterwards - she still wasn’t sure if that was just out of pity); she felt embarrassment rise in her chest again at just the thought of it. Stupid, stupid Arya. It was too soon and too much. She should have known he would have issues like that - his past was even more fucked up than hers. She sighed as she lay back and pulled the bedding tightly around herself, sneaking a look at Jaime out of the corner of her eye. He was only a foot away, but her hopes didn’t seem likely. He had already curled up on his side with his eyes closed.

At least he was still here. 

 

Arya jerked awake and immediately scrabbled for her sword, throwing the scabbard off and shoving her blankets off, ready for the swarm of wights to come bursting into the barn; but all was silent. The horses were both snoozing on their feet. The wind howled a little through the rafters but everything else was still.

Then, next to her, Jaime jerked in his sleep and his head tossed left and right. 

“No,” he gasped, “don’t…” 

Arya really wanted to know what he was dreaming about. For a moment she was tempted to watch him and see if he revealed anything else through his sleep-talking, but seeing him so distressed wasn't worth it. She pulled her blankets back over herself against the cold and laid her sword to the side, and shuffled closer to him.

“Jaime,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him. “Jaime, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open and Arya noticed a slight dampness around his eyelids as he met her gaze. He took a deep breath in and out before speaking.

“I woke you again,” he said, rubbing roughly at his eyes as though tired - a poor attempt at hiding the tears.

“What were you dreaming?” she asked.

To her surprise, her words caused his eyes to fill up again, and she quickly shook her head. “I mean - sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

She lay back down on the straw.

Next to her, she could hear Jaime taking some deep breaths, getting himself under control. After a few moments, he turned on his side and threw his right arm over her stomach, tugging her closer to him and burying his face against her shoulder. Arya reached up instinctively to wrap her hand around his stump and he made a small noise in response. Arya tried to see his face, unsure if it was pain or pleasure.

“It… it aches in the cold,” he explained haltingly, not meeting her eyes. “When you do that, it warms up, and it feels better.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it.”


	4. Chapter 4

For once, the next day it wasn’t snowing. They rode towards the next town in watery sunlight. 

“Who was she?” Arya finally asked into their companionable silence. Jaime looked like he might pretend he hadn’t heard her, but finally his shoulders slumped and he said, “Who?”

“Yesterday you said I reminded you of someone. And I think you dreamed of that person last night. Both times you cried. And also you said Cersei was ‘almost’ all your experience of relationships. Not ‘all’. ‘Almost’.”

He was silent a long time, the only sound their horse’s feet on the ground, and finally he said quietly, “Lady Brienne of Tarth. Did you ever meet her?”

Arya frowned. “Yes,” she replied, surprised. That certainly wasn’t what she had expected to hear. “The white walkers…” she trailed off. 

Jaime stared straight ahead, clearly unwilling to elaborate. 

Arya pressed. “Was she…?” Jaime’s jaw clenched. “I mean, did you…?”

Jaime looked sharply across at her, challenging, and Arya sighed.

“Don’t worry, I get it.”

“I doubt that very much,” Jaime muttered, and Arya regretted pressing him about it. At least she now knew that some of his actions could be explained by this grief.

“And you?” Jaime asked suddenly, and she looked over at him again, surprised. 

“Me?”

“Who was the man you loved?”

“I’ve never loved anyone.”

“Where did you learn to kiss like that, then?” he said wryly.

Arya shifted uncomfortably. “There was a man… one of the faceless men. When I got older, we became… close.”

“And then you left?”

“He died. And then I left.”

Jaime nodded. “I’m sorry.”

They approached the next town. As they got closer, Arya started to see signs that everything was not right. When they reached the gates, they were hanging open.

She dismounted and started cautiously through. Inside the gates, she saw the first body.

“Wights didn’t do this,” Arya said, through gritted teeth. The bodies were deliberately cut to pieces and strewn about; it was obvious that it had taken many of them a long time to die. They neared the centre of the town, where a child had been torn apart and the various pieces of him were strung up over the well. 

Arya sighed. “We’ll need to burn them. We should repair the gates and then-” she stopped. Behind her, Jaime made a choking sound and then turned and threw up on the ground.

Arya looked around, wondering if there was anything particularly worse that had triggered this reaction, and then checked herself, realising she was faced with a dismembered child and she was looking around to find something worse -  _ what was wrong with her? _

In the meantime, Jaime had fallen to his hands and knees, the day’s meals on the ground in front of him. She grimaced as he heaved again and nothing came out but spit.

She took a step closer. “Erm - are you alright?”

He didn’t reply. He took several deep breaths while Arya tried to figure out what a normal person would do in this situation. She imagined they would touch him in some way - should she rub his back or something? But then he was wiping his mouth and getting to his feet.

She frowned when she saw his face. He looked - strange.

“Jaime?” she asked carefully.

He turned his eyes to her, but it was like he wasn’t actually seeing. And he was pale - more than pale, ashen.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, in a monotone.

“You didn’t look fine a moment ago,” she pointed out.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, in the same dead voice.

Arya narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to him again, peering closer into his eyes.

“What made you throw up, then?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

She pointed to the dismembered child, and his eyes followed her obediently. “It wasn’t  _ that _ ? Are you fine with  _ that _ ?”

He looked from the well to her again, and didn’t reply.

“What’s going on, Jaime? You look crazy.”

He watched her impassively, and again didn’t reply. She grasped his upper arms and shook him. “Jaime!” she yelled in his face. 

His head shook side to side but his eyes remained dead. It was like he barely noticed she was doing it. Feeling something like panic rising in her chest, she slapped him across the face, hard. He stumbled sideways, but regained his footing, and returned to his neutral stance and dead gaze. 

The wind blew through the town and Arya suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Jaime had disappeared while standing in front of her. She took a deep breath.

“We need to burn the bodies,” she said, forcing her voice to be calm. “Can you help me pile them?”

To her slight relief, he nodded and turned woodenly to get to work. Arya watched him for a moment, disbelieving, then went to work herself. It took an hour to find all the bodies - and parts of bodies - from around the village and pile them up. Arya started the fire and then went back to the gate to patch it up enough to keep any wights out. Then she returned to the fire. 

Jaime was sitting down on a low wall. She sat as well, a cautious distance away, and watched the fire while stealing glances across at him every few seconds. Was he going to stay like this for long? She had never seen anything like it before. She could understand what had happened; he’d seen something awful and he couldn’t handle it, so he removed himself from the situation. It was almost like what she had trained to do as a faceless man, and yet not, because he seemed to have also lost his independent mind. 

Suddenly, Jaime shuddered violently, and took a deep breath in, and shifted around in a human way, more human than he’d been for the past hour. He turned to her, and it was like the life had returned to his eyes. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“...Arya…” he said, squinting at her as though he was waking up from a dream, and she got cautiously to her feet and crossed to sit next to him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I - I think so…”

“You… well, you kind of disappeared for a while. It was like you just… like there was nothing inside.”

“I don’t really remember…”

Arya opened her mouth to explain further and then, out of the darkness, a sound came, and they both froze.

“Was that-?”

“Ssh,” Jaim cut her off, holding a finger up. They both listened hard into the darkness. Then the sound came again. A cry - a baby’s cry.

Jaime was on his feet. Arya hurried after him as he ran across the village square, listening, looking up at the houses, then burst through the door of one on the left. Arya followed him into the house, across the room and up the stairs at the back. 

“I swear I checked in here…” she muttered, following as he took the stairs two at a time. At the top, Jaime looked around and then crossed to a dresser, wrenching the doors open.

Inside, a pile of clothes, moving around, the cry coming muffled from inside. Jaime ripped the clothes away and revealed a tiny baby.

Arya stared at it. “The mother must have hidden it here,” she said, disbelieving, looking around the room. “Lucky, to escape the wights.”

Jaime reached into the dresser and took the baby out carefully, tugging its blanket with it. Arya watched as he expertly lay it in his arms, wrapping the blanket around, smoothing back its small patch of brown hair and making shushing noises.

“It’s alright, we’ve found you now,” he said in a tiny soft voice, and Arya felt her eyes widen as she watched him speaking in soft comforting nothings to this baby. It was… it made something in her chest felt like it was being squeezed. She had no idea what this feeling was. Arya didn’t even  _ like _ babies.

He looked around for supplies and as Arya stood frozen, no idea what to do, within two minutes Jaime had changed the baby out of its soiled clothes and into clean ones.

He glanced up at her. “Is there water?”

Arya nodded dumbly and passed him her waterskin. He fed a few drops past the baby’s lips.

“We can’t stay here,” Jaime said softly. “We need to take him to the next village.”

“Right.”

“Go get the horses.”

“Uh - okay.”

Arya hurried downstairs, taken aback at how much Jaime had just taken control of this situation. If she had been here by herself and found an abandoned baby, she didn’t know what she would have done. Arya couldn’t remember ever even holding a baby before, let alone looking after one.

She brought the horses up to the house and Jaime emerged with the baby wrapped up in a warm blanket. He glanced up at his horse. 

“Hold him a moment,” he said, holding the bundle out towards her.

Arya jumped back in alarm. “ _ Me _ ?” she exclaimed.

Jaime raised an eyebrow at her. “I need to get on my horse, then you can pass him up to me.”

“Er, I don’t…”

Jaime rolled his eyes and stepped closer, cornering her against the side of the horse, pressing the bundle against her chest. 

“Just put your arms out,” he instructed, and Arya dumbly stuck her arms forward. Jaime rested the baby there and adjusted her arms slightly, nodding in approval before he stepped back. “Haven’t you ever held a baby before?” he asked teasingly as he turned to mount his horse.

“ _ No _ ,” Arya replied with emphasis, stepping over to him. He reached down and took the bundle back from her, somehow securing it in the crook of his right arm while his left grasped the reins. 

Arya mounted up and they made their way slowly out of the village. She was fairly sure the next town wasn’t far. The baby cried out occasionally and Jaime rocked it and shushed it and the noises he was making for this baby never failed to make Arya’s heart clench. She didn’t even know why.

“How come you know all this?” she finally exclaimed. Jaime looked across at her in surprise.

“I mean-” Arya waved a hand awkwardly, “Cersei didn’t let you - you know - with Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen… did she?”

“No,” he said, and sadness overcame his features, and Arya felt terrible for bringing it up.

“Then what babies have you had so much experience with?”

“Tyrion,” Jaime said with a shrug. “Our mother was dead, our father was grieving, Cersei thought he was nothing more than entertainment. Aside from the nursemaids, I was the only one who spent any time with him.”

 

They made it to the next town without incident. It was still not too late in the evening, and they went straight to the inn and explained their situation to the innkeeper. He was far more helpful than Arya expected, and within an hour they were passing the baby off to a woman who would be able to feed and take care of him until she found something more permanent.

They took a room at the inn - a single room with only one bed, just like Arya had been kind of hoping for before - but Jaime seemed exhausted and Arya wasn’t about to push him into anything.

She blew the candle out and lay down next to him, but to her surprise, he spoke.

“You liked seeing me with the baby,” he commented, a little of the cockiness back in his voice.

“Huh?”

“You liked it. I could tell.”

“Why would I like it?” Arya grumbled, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.

“It’s instinctive,” Jaime replied. “Women like it when a man demonstrates he can be an effective husband.”

Arya snorted. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I liked it because it was cute.”

He rolled to face her. “So you  _ did _ like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Arya said through her teeth, and Jaime threw his right arm around her, like usual, but this time he rolled closer, lifting up on his left elbow so that he was almost on top of her, looking down. “You said exactly that,” he teased.

“It’s not news that I like you,” Arya grumbled.

“You like me with a baby,” he grinned, letting his nose brush against her cheek, and she wasn’t sure if he was doing it deliberately or not, but she wasn’t about to complain, aware that it was difficult for him to take the initiative, and wanting to see where this was going.

“Yes, alright, I liked it,” she admitted, a slight waver in her voice as his nose brushed her ear, and his lips brushed her cheekbone, very briefly. Arya failed to repress a gasp and, unable to hold back any longer, turned her head and their lips were already almost touching and he met her gaze steadily before she lifted her head and closed the distance. 

His eyes fluttered shut but she watched him carefully as she pressed her lips gently against his. 

It wasn't like last time - his lips weren't closed and unresponsive. He kissed her back, his lips moving cautiously against hers, and she tried not to push too hard, but couldn't help tentatively stroking his bottom lip with her tongue, and to her approval, he opened his mouth for her, and she couldn’t repress a small moan as she kissed him deeper. 

She was surrounded by his scent and his taste. His tongue met hers, and it wasn’t exactly confident, but it wasn’t shy either. He was  _ good _ at this. She felt heat spreading through her whole body as he gently pulled at her bottom lip.

She lifted her hand to his ribs. His body was hot to the touch. She found the hem of his shirt, running her hand up and over the smooth skin of his back, and then she dug her fingers into the curve of his shoulder blade and started to pull him closer to her -

Jaime jerked and sat back. He was breathing hard.

Arya froze and stared up at him. Neither of them spoke for several moments.

Finally, Arya got her thoughts back together enough to say something. “I - I pushed too hard,” she stammered.

He was shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. “I, er-”

He struggled to explain himself. “I'm not sure. I think, erm…” He looked uncomfortable. “I think I… I don't like being held down.” 

He looked as surprised as her at this revelation.

Arya swallowed and nodded. “Did Cersei, erm-”

He didn't meet her gaze, but nodded, playing with a thread on his sleeve cuff. “Sometimes,” he said, very quietly. He frowned down at the loose thread. “Sorry,” he added.

“Not your fault,” Arya replied quickly. “You were enjoying it up until then, right?”

Finally, he looked up. “I was,” he said with a slight smile. “Maybe…” the smile faded. “Maybe that's enough for one night though.”

Arya nodded. “I think so.”

Jaime lay back down carefully, and after a moment hesitation, put his right arm over her again. Arya cupped his right wrist and settled in for sleep, unable to stop feeling a little disappointed but still happy they had at least got somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* er, yeah, sorry about Brienne, everyone... I just don't think this story would be feasible if she was still around. It's also kind of counterconditioning therapy for me because I'm very scared that's exactly what's going to happen in S8 :|
> 
> Let me know what you guys think of this; Jaime is kind of difficult to get right (Arya is easier) but I hope his voice is coming through okay.


	5. Chapter 5

They left the town in the morning and continued onwards. Soon after they left, Arya could see signs of wights. She pointed them out to Jaime and they proceeded silently off the road and into the woods, following the tracks.

It wasn’t a large group. Arya dismounted when she knew they were close, left the horses, and ran with her dagger drawn, silently. Jaime followed behind her. She burst through the trees and took the group of wights unaware. They were making their way around a frozen pond. She cut through them, noting without emotion that a second group emerged further ahead. It wasn’t a problem. 

It was the first time she had clearly seen Jaime fight, and she could tell at a glance that he wasn’t anything impressive. She supposed he must have been once, but not with his left hand. She let one or two wights pass through her net to give him something to do, but took on the brunt of them herself.

The fight didn’t last long. Arya spun her way through the second group without much of a problem, then turned back to ensure Jaime was doing alright with the last couple. He  _ was _ doing alright, but as Arya watched him strike one with his sword, and it shattered to pieces, another one behind him rose up, not yet destroyed, and grabbed his ankle. It wrenched his leg backwards, and he tripped and fell over the bank and straight into the pond, smashing through the ice into the frozen water.

Arya stabbed the final wight with her dagger, and it exploded satisfyingly, and then leaped down the icy bank after Jaime.

She threw herself onto her stomach and stuck an arm into the freezing water, gasping as the cold hit her skin like knives. She found something of him under the surface - the back of his tunic - and hauled him up to the surface, gasping. She got a grip on his collar and with a huge effort, pulled him out of the water and onto the ice. He was so heavy with the water streaming off him, she grasped his collar with both hands and felt like her arms would be ripped from her sockets, and saw she was almost choking him with the collar against his throat, but she didn’t stop until they were free of the ice and safe on the bank.

As soon as she released him he gasped and vomited water and bile over the ground. Before he was even finished Arya was tugging at his tunic.

“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely, turning to her. She attacked the fastenings on the front.

“If you don’t get these clothes off you’ll freeze to death.”

He swallowed and nodded, helping her with the rest with shaking hands. With his tunic off, Arya turned and whistled sharply. Her horse emerged tentatively from the trees a few moment’s later, Jaime’s trailing not far behind. She hurried to their bags and rifled through Jaime’s for his dry clothes, tugging them free and turning back to a stark naked Jaime Lannister standing in front of her. She paused, vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open.

“Arya, perhaps now isn’t the time…” he said with a shaky voice, managing a smirk, and she shook her head furiously and determinedly ignored his beautiful body as she helped him tug the dry tunic on and he pulled on his pants. Once he was dressed she threw her own cloak over him and raced around through the trees and foraged enough dry wood to quickly build a fire.

Thirty minutes later Jaime’s shaking had died down and his clothes were hanging to dry next to the fire. Arya was grateful that it wasn’t snowing. When the water finally heated enough for tea, she passed him a cup and sat next to him, close enough that their arms were pressed together.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Arya,” he replied soothingly. “Thanks to you, again.”

“I’ve seen people die from exposure like that,” she said in a low voice. “You have to act quickly.”

“Are you sure you just didn’t want an excuse to get my clothes off?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I planned that whole thing.”

Jaime sat back on his hands. “Where will we go tomorrow?” he asked.

“We’re low on supplies,” Arya replied. “Winterfell. Home.”

 

They arrived back early the next evening.

To Arya’s great annoyance, they were right in time for dinner. The servants insisted on providing her at least with a basin of warm water and soap to clean up before changing into clean, dry clothes (the first in days) before she made her way down to the hall.

Sansa stood as she entered and several of the other lords called out greetings as she crossed the room. Sansa hugged her before they sat.

“Thank you for your help with the preparations. You had to leave before we got back?”

“Yes, something came up,” Arya replied smoothly. “But I’m back now.”

“What are your estimations on the wights now?”

Arya gave Sansa a run down on the numbers she reckoned were currently around to the east and south of Winterfell. Sansa hadn’t understood her for a long time, but now she respected what Arya did and let her do it, and gladly took her reports and intelligence whenever she got the chance.

The food was served and Arya tucked in hungrily. “We haven’t had anything hot for days,” she said through a full mouth.

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Me and Jaime.”

“Jaime and I,” Sansa corrected automatically and ignored the face Arya made at her. 

“Where is he?” Arya asked, looking around, noticing for the first time that he hadn’t arrived yet.

“How should I know?” Sansa responded petulantly. “He’s your lover, not mine.”

Arya almost choked on her food. Sansa calmly passed her a cup of wine to wash it down and waited while Arya recovered her voice.

“He’s not my - my-”

“I expect he’s with Tyrion,” she spoke smoothly over Arya’s spluttering. “They haven’t seen each other in quite a while. Tyrion mentioned before dinner he was going to look for him. We were wondering if he might be able to assist with some of our more practical military quandaries.”

“ _ We _ ?” Arya repeated obdurately, mimicking Sansa’s higher voice.

“Tyrion and I,” her sister replied with a poorly concealed smirk.

The doors opened and the two men in question entered, still in conversation as they crossed the hall. Arya smirked at Sansa. “Well, here comes both my lover  _ and _ your lover,” she said smugly, hoping for an explosion characteristic of her sister’s younger self at that comment, but Sansa only smiled calmly at Arya and when Tyrion approached, leaned back a little so that he could kiss her affectionately on the lips before taking his seat next to her. The bread halfway into Arya’s mouth dropped to the floor, along with her jaw, and Jaime gave her a rather disgusted look as he passed and patted her heavily on the shoulder before taking a seat on her other side. 

Sansa turned back to her. “You were saying, sister?”

 

Sansa and Tyrion left dinner together an hour later and Jaime snapped his fingers in front of Arya’s face to stop her staring at them as they left.

“Don’t be rude,” he berated, and Arya glared at him.

“But they’re… they’re… it’s just not…”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it,” he said with half a grin. “Come on, let’s go.”

She trailed after him out of the hall and they started up the curving stairs together. “Did he tell you how long they’ve been… they’ve been… this has been going on for?”

“Some months, I think.” Jaime drew to a halt on the stairs and Arya stopped and turned back to look at him. “Why are you so shocked?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Because they were forced to marry and they both hated it, hated each other.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jaime pointed out. “People change. Circumstances change.”

“Yes, but…” Arya struggled. “He’s… he’s a…”

“A dwarf?” Jaime asked flatly, his expression darkening.

“No!” Arya exclaimed. “I mean he’s a… well…”

She looked at him and he stepped up to the next stair, the one below hers, bringing him closer to her, their faces level with this height difference. “A  _ Lannister _ ?” he asked, his voice going deep.

“I only mean that Sansa had such a…  _ vendetta _ against your family…”

“And you didn’t?”

“Only for your sister and your… Joffrey,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“It is still a Lannister standing before you,” he said in a low voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she growled, and put her hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him.

Jaime responded quickly this time. His mouth was hot and wet and his tongue was insistent and amazing and his left hand was already underneath her shirt and running over the sensitive skin of her stomach. She gasped into his mouth and he wrapped his hand around her hip, tugging her against him. She pulled at the bottom of his tunic with one hand, tugging it free from where it was tucked into his breeches, while the other ran through his hair, messing it up from its neatness for dinner.

Then there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs below and they both shot apart. Jaime looked around before grabbing her hand and tugging her up to the landing. There was a door to the left which lead out to the wall - the one where they had kissed the first time.

Jaime threw a hand at the door handle and they burst through to the darkness outside, wrapped up in each other. Arya pushed him against the battlement, and felt him stiffen slightly, and immediately reacted, gentling her movements deliberately, kissing him deeply, and when she felt him relax again, she slid her hands down to grip his hips- 

And then they heard a faint noise and both froze in their movements and looked for the first time down the wall. Tyrion and Sansa were standing there looking equally dishevelled and awkward and Arya couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of her at the sight.

“It’s alright, we’ll go,” Tyrion said hastily, looking quickly from Jaime to Arya to Sansa. His hair was all over the place. “By all means, you two stay and… enjoy.”

The two made a hasty retreat through the door on the other end of the stretch. When the door closed behind them Jaime let out a long breath and some soft laughter and Arya giggled into his shirt.

“That was awkward,” she said hoarsely.

“Mm,” Jaime agreed distractedly, kissing her hair, then her temple, then her ear. Arya shivered and resumed her work on his breeches, finding the lace and tugging them open and pulling his cock free. She took a moment to admire it, her forehead resting on his chest as she looked down.

“Do you approve?” he asked and Arya snorted with laughter as she reached out and grabbed him.

Jaime groaned faintly and tried to get her own clothes off as she started to pump him up and down, but he was at a disadvantage, scrabbling at the buttons on her tunic with his one hand. Arya grinned and pumped him harder, enjoying watching as his eyes lost focus for a moment and he struggled to concentrate on what he was doing. Eventually he got access and bent his head to kiss down the curve of her breast and then took one nipple into his mouth. Arya gasped and lost track of everything except Jaime’s mouth for several seconds until he pulled back for a moment and looked up at her with darkened eyes. 

She pushed him gently back against the wall again, kissing him hard and renewing her grip on his cock, while helping him undo her own breeches. Soon they were down around her knees and she lifted her knee up around his hip and sighed in frustration. He was too tall and she was too short for it to work like that. He smiled and brushed her hair back.

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” he said warmly, and let his hand trail slowly down over her breast, over her hip, and between her legs. Everything else fell away from Arya’s mind as she squeezed her eyes shut and let her head drop to his shoulder as his fingers slid between her folds, one long finger penetrating her, pressing upwards, and his thumb coming around to the front, finding her sensitive nub quickly and starting to rub in circles. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t done this before. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t enjoyed it before, either. But this was nothing like anything she’d done before. Previously, it had been more efficient and less messy. Jaime clearly had no care for efficiency. He wanted to take all the time he liked. 

Arya gained enough brainpower back to grasp him in her hand again and pump in time with the movement of his thumb, and she couldn’t quite believe they were doing this, outside in the freezing cold, hands down each other’s pants like randy teenagers. 

She pumped him harder, twisting each time, and Jaime dropped his forehead against the top of her head as he came over her hand. Arya followed him a second later, muffling a moan into his neck.

They stood there panting for several seconds before Jaime gave a surprised laugh and wiped her hand clean with the tail of his shirt. 

“I haven’t done anything like that for… a long time,” he said.

“Me neither,” Arya agreed, lifting her head from his shoulder. He kissed her again, softly, and then they separated enough to put their clothes back in order. 

They went to their separate rooms to clean up properly. Arya didn’t want to be separate from him at all - she was half hoping they would be able to pick up where they left off as soon as they got back to the closest room - but while she was desperate for the feeling of him inside her, she also didn’t want to take any risk of pregnancy.

So, she decided to try being sensible. She got into bed.

It was only a few minutes later when the door opened and closed softly and Jaime climbed in behind her. His arm came around her stomach and pulled her back against him. He pressed against her and she gasped as she distinctly felt his cock pressing against her arse, but he didn’t seem to want to do anything else with it. His nose rested behind her ear and she felt his breath warm on her neck, and he gave a long sigh of contentment before, to all appearances, going straight to sleep.

She couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed, but she was warm and comfortable and tired, and everything felt as it should be with him there, breathing steadily behind her, and she soon drifted off to sleep.

 

Light was just beginning to filter through the windows when the door opened. Arya yelped and tugged the blanket up to her chin, opening her mouth to tell the maid to come back later, when Sansa strode in with Tyrion behind her.

“What are you doing?” Arya exclaimed and Jaime jerked awake at the noise, sitting bolt upright in alarm.

“Relax,” Sansa said, taking a seat on Arya’s side of the room while Tyrion helped himself to the wine on the sideboard. “We wanted to discuss some things with you.”

“ _ Now _ ?” Arya said, disbelieving.

“Yes, now,” Tyrion replied with a smirk. “Sansa thought it would be easier if you weren’t given an opportunity to deny…” he waved a hand at them, “this.”

“You’ve proven your point,” Jaime said, glaring at Tyrion. “Let us get dressed and we can all meet a little later-”

“I prefer to meet now,” Sansa cut in cooly, tossing a tunic to Arya.

Arya pulled it over her head and got to her feet. It covered enough, and she wasn’t highly bothered by anyone in the room seeing her naked anyway. She didn’t like the position of vulnerability they were putting her in, with them fully dressed and seated while she and Jaime were huddled in bed and taken unawares.

She rounded on Sansa and stood over her. Her sister looked not even remotely concerned. Arya had to repress a snarl.

“We’ve been over this before,” she said in a low voice, not intending to include the men. “I am not one of you. I’m not your bannerman, I’m not your lady in waiting. I’m a Stark of Winterfell and I make my own decisions. You’ve benefitted enough from them so far. Remember when you tried to stop me from going out on my own the first time?”

“I remember it well.”

“It didn’t end so well for you, did it?”

“What is your point, Arya?” Sansa asked boredly.

Arya fumed. “My point is if I want to fuck Jaime Lannister then I will, and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop it.”

Jaime’s voice, low and amused, was audible from behind her - “You still think I did not get the more fiery of the two, brother?”

“I congratulate you, brother,” Tyrion replied. 

Arya rounded on the two of them. “Shut it, both of you. This doesn’t have anything to do with either of you.”

“That’s true,” Jaime nodded, sitting back against the headboard, the sheet barely providing him any modesty. “Our cocks, yes, but us, no.”

“I’m sorry, were you complaining?” Arya asked sarcastically.

Jaime’s eyes widened innocently. “Of course not.”

“Arya,” Sansa said, amusement in her voice. “Calm down. This isn’t what you think.”

“No?”

“No. If you want to fuck Jaime Lannister, then I fully support it. In fact, I encourage it.”

Arya looked from her to Tyrion to Jaime and back again. “Huh?”

“Sansa holds the North,” Tyrion spoke up, stepping forward. “But our numbers here are not great. I am worthless in this respect, as a mere second son. My brother, on the other hand,” he said, waving his hand at Jaime, “is the rightful heir of the Lannister inheritance and the true Lord of Casterly Rock.”

At this, all the amusement fell from Jaime’s face, and he lowered his arms from where they had been folded behind his head. “Tyrion… I’m  _ not.” _

“But you  _ are, _ brother,” Tyrion insisted. “And an alliance between you and a Stark would be a very powerful claim on the Lannister forces, who I understand are spread across the land as it is. We could call them back in, rally them together, and make a concerted push against the army of the Night King. With the extra men, we could truly reclaim some parts of the land at least, keep strong patrols on the borders, kill any wights who come near. The people could return to their houses and their land, we might be able to produce a little more food for our dwindling stores… It could potentially solve a lot of our problems.”

Arya was speechless. Luckily, Jaime had the same question she did. He swallowed hard and said, “Alliance… you mean marriage?”

“Of course,” Sansa replied. 

“No,” Arya said at the same time as Jaime, and turned to him, his face reflecting her feelings precisely - terrified.

Sansa just rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already together, what difference will it make to you? I’m organising a double ceremony for tomorrow. Tyrion and I are technically already married, but it wouldn’t hurt to re-do it, I think.”

“But-” Arya stammered, and Sansa spoke smoothly over her.

“We really need this, Arya. If you refuse to go through with it, you may just be condemning some of our people to starvation. If you grow tired of each other after a while, that’s fine, you never have to speak again. Just say the words and play the part. You said you never wanted to marry, anyway, so it’s not like I’m depriving you of anything. Alright?”

She made a strong argument. Arya sighed. “I suppose I can do that.”

She looked back at Jaime, who had gone rather pale, but he shared a glance with Tyrion and then nodded. “If that’s what you want.”


End file.
